


The Things I Was And The Things I Will Become

by translevi



Category: Prototype (Video Games)
Genre: Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sibling Bonding, Trans Male Character, aftermath of enemies to friends to lovers, alex is trans. can a virus be trans? my city now so yes, alex learns how to be a human being is essentially the summary of this, alex mercer makes a friend, also its 6 am and ive been writing this since like 3 am, and gets a boyfriend, look do you really think alex "i was never human" mercer is okay? is that what you think?, robert lived because gay rights and i do what i want ty gn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/translevi/pseuds/translevi
Summary: Alex Mercer comes to terms with what he is, and what he isn't.
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Bradley Ragland, Alex Mercer & Dana Mercer, Robert Cross/Alex Mercer
Comments: 16
Kudos: 58





	1. brother

**Author's Note:**

> unofficially dedicated to volpeanon who i'd like to thank for inspiring me to write again and also blessing this dead decrepit fandom with their gorgeous writing. if u haven't read anything by them what the fuck go do it now holy shit.

When what remains of Alex Mercer crawls out of the water, he aches. In every drop of blood, in every puddle of biomass he leaves in his wake, in agony and talons and feathers and a thousand ringing screams. He rebuilds himself slowly, the wake of nuclear energy humming in every vein he tries to create, collapsing and reforming endlessly as his body spits out what means to destroy him. The virus—because that’s what he _is_ , not human, not _anything_ —bites and howls and aggresses and he survives in limbo, buffeted by the hivemind’s insistent hum. His lungs inflate with his first breath of _unnecessary_ air, and his vision goes black as fire courses inside of him, eyes finally there to open.

The water around the island shakes and trembles still, and Alex has no concept of how long he had been drifting, no concept of _anything_ that was not clouded by the memories of a thousand dead men. It’s easy to sit there, to pretend the roar in his ears is the water, that the ringing is from the explosion he was caught in the grasp of. But even so, all it takes is one moment to remember that he has been pretending for a very long time. His whole life, in fact; whatever meaning that had.

Could you call it a life, when you’re not even sure you count as alive?

Alex Mercer might have known, but he is not Alex Mercer.

Even though one disaster has been prevented, the other was still ongoing, and whatever he was refused to rest until the sins of his creator had been attested for, so with a world weary ache in his bones, the virus stands, turning his gaze away from the erratic motions of the sea, and walks back into the chaos he knows.

He was the reason for all of this. They called him a killer, a monster… a terrorist. He was all of these things, and it was all he would ever be.

It was endlessly amusing, in a painful sort of way, that the only things he could truly call his own were gifted to him by a man that ruined everything.

The virus, whatever he is, isn’t stupid, and he slips by in form after form, stolen in the past from who they belonged to, skirting the streets towards the hospital, safe and once again under the protection of the military.

Cross had kept his promise then, had followed up with everything he had promised a liar. The military was back in, setting up safe havens, protecting the important districts, fighting to give this island a chance. And Alex was a terrorist, responsible for consuming their General—as long as Cross and his team were okay, and that no one else knew, that was fine. As long as Cross was fine.

He doesn’t think about that.

He’s halfway to the entrance to the morgue before he stops, a feeling very similar to bile rising in the back of his throat as he stared. Dana, Dana Mercer. Alex’s sister.

He is not Alex.

It’s a weight in his stomach, an ache in his chest, a pressure behind his eyes. Memories that are _not_ his assault him, and it’s all he can do to force them down, turning on his heel to leave before stumbling to a stop again, some part of his mind _screaming_ for ever daring to turn his back on Dana like this. Memories of fighting and rage and tears overwhelm him, and the weight is crushing, crushing as he gasps for air he _doesn’t need_ , crushing as his mind tries to make him remember.

He forces it down, forces everything down, and runs bumping shoulders with another marine hard enough to knock him to the ground, the man yelling in rage and pain. He doesn’t turn back, doesn’t stop. It’s all what remains of him can do to run from something he never had, until finally he finds an alley, and he stops, hand pressing against the rough brick as he slammed his head against it, forehead cracking the wall and doing nothing to alleviate the ever present feeling of _everything_ in his brain. It hurts, and he screams, agony and rage mixing into something that he can call his own.

Weeks pass like that, a motionless blur he spends curled up in an abandoned apartment building. Energy thrums in his muscles and he _knows_ he needs to be out there, needs to be fixing what he was born from, but he thinks of Dana and he can’t. He’s only been alive for all of 30 days, and everything is new and it hurts. He doesn’t know how to deal with it, doesn’t know how to cope with the tremble to his hands or the sweat on his neck that comes with the twisting feeling of his stomach tying itself into knots. He wants-- Dana, he wants _Robert_ , he wants the memories of a family to be his own but they are not and every feeling he’s ever experienced lays dead and dying in the pool of his memory, swimming with unknown sensations.

He doesn’t even know if Dana’s awake.

He doesn’t even know if Dana is alive--

A spike lurches up through the ground, destroying the decaying couch in the middle of the room, and he melts in on himself, staining the carpet and wall.

Like all of his life up until this point, what does happen, happens by chance. He can’t stay away from her, not really, by Alex’s insistence or his own, he isn’t sure. But he can’t stay away.

Ragland is the one that finds him lurking in a deserted hallway, trying to scent for people through a vent on the ceiling, looking for soldiers, hospital personnel and Dana alike. It’s too muddled, too crowded, and he’s lost in the scent and the voices until a hand rests on his shoulder. He whips around too fast, snarling and teeth and more wild animal than something human, but Ragland is calm in the face of a monster, and his claws sheathe more due to shock than anything.

 _“Ragland?”_ Fear and surprise and curiosity and _every_ emotion sits on his face and his voice, like a child who didn’t know how to wear a mask, how to suppress anything. Ironic, since that was all he knew.

“Alex,” His name but not his name, but then what can he be called? _Zeus?_ He doesn’t know. “You took the _bomb_ , Blackwatch reported you were _dead -_ how are you _alive_?” _Alex_ can only stare in the face of him, processing the knitted brows, the desperate look in his eyes, the concern in his tone. He knows what it all means, but he cannot believe it, not for himself.

Dead? Well… “I should be.”

Ragland fills him in on Dana’s condition, and he can’t stop pacing, walking the length of the morgue agitated and _afraid_ , hands balled into fists by his side. Controlling his strength is something both new and familiar, knowing how to hit and hurt, but not break, versus walking light enough not to stomp footprints throughout the room.

New, and familiar.

Ragland is not an overly concerned person, but the empathy is there—not sympathy, a very important distinction. Alex couldn’t stand sympathy—it has to be for Ragland to want to be in a medical position. There is a tightness to his muscles as he updates Alex on Dana’s status, and a furrow to his brow that indicates his frustration, his concern. But his tone is serious, and kind, and Alex has been without a kind word for so long now.

The bags under Raglands eyes are deeper than before, not something that Alex had ever considered possible.

What Ragland says next makes his heart stop.

“She’s starting to become more responsive to voice and light near her--”

And before he can stop himself, Alex is right there, in Ragland’s face, close enough to see his pupils flex, to see the way his breath hitches. Alex ignores it, ignores the desperation in his own voice, because he needs--”Where is she?”

  
  


Dana was always small as a child, was small as an adult, and she has never looked tinier than where she is in her hospital bed. He can’t even convince himself that she’s asleep, because Dana never slept like that. Dana slept throwing herself out, or curled up like a ball, she slept snoring and rolling over and falling off the bed and waking Alex up crying because she hit her head on the hardwood floor. Dana was all of these things and more, but she was never silent and still.

It cements it in his mind, and it breaks him. Even in the few days he had with her, she was a comfort, she was safety and she was familiarity, she was a warm presence, she was-- _Alex’s_ sister.

He took her brother from her, and with that thought in mind Alex collapses into a chair by her bed, doubling over and covering his face with his hands. Agony twists at him, and his breathes hitch and gasp over and over again. He feels more than hears Ragland shut the door, the slight movement and vibrations giving it away. He hates it, he hates all of this. He hates being…

He hates being.

There’s no telling how long he sits there, eyes shielded from the cold, sterile hospital room by the darkness of his hands. There's something poetic, something metaphoric in it, refusing to see because he’s covered his own eyes, but he is not a poet. Though, clearly someone was.

It’s hysterical and painful and the giggles that slip from him are delirious in nature, laughing through pain and tears that slip down his skin only to be absorbed again by his hungry body.

“I’m sorry,” Broken, and under his breath, because all he can think of is how he failed. Of Dana’s broken sobs as she begged for him to save her, because she was scared, because he didn’t know what Greene did to her, because she always just wanted her big brother to protect her. But he failed her, Alex failed her.

He failed her.

“‘M sorry Dana. _I’m so sorry-”_ His gasps are so loud in this empty room, “I’m so sorry it’s all my fault.” He repeats it like a mantra, gasping and choking on apologies that mean nothing when his actions don’t back up his words. He cries, and he cries, and Dana doesn’t wake up.

He doesn’t need to sleep anymore, he never did, but he can allow himself this small lie, just while he’s here, just while he needs anything to do that isn’t listening to Dana’s heart monitor. The beeping invades his dreams, louder than the hivemind, more important than any memory, and when it stutters and speeds and _skips_ , he jerks awake. Dana shifts, and stirs, and Alex nearly hyperventilates staring at her as her eyelids flutter open.

“Dana-” He’s out of the chair in a second, and her eyes are unfocused, glassy; and her head flops to the side too heavy, chasing the sound of his voice.

 _“...Alex?”_ It’s sleepy and hoarse and she looks so small and so pale and so _exhausted_ but Alex collapses to his knees beside her hospital bed, gasping her name and pressing close. He flings one arm over her, the other reaching up to cup her head as he buries his face in her neck, just like she did to him when she was young and afraid.

Dana laughs, somehow, despite everything, despite how it ends in a harsh cough, despite how the tremors wrack her frail body; but she throws her thin arms around him, nearly slapping him with an uncontrolled hand. It’s so easy to forget, he _wants_ to forget.

“I missed you too.” And something inside him _screams._

  
  


She’s been awake for a week now, and strength is slowly starting to come back to her, she still looks sickly, but she is awake and that is all he can ask for. She’s sitting up now, despite the nurses admonishments. Dana was always like that, always pushing, trying to do more than she should. That was what got her into this mess, what got her _hurt._ Alex’s mind hisses and snarls, cursing everything under the sun—himself included.

She’s talking, though her voice still cracks occasionally, and Ragland is a constant visitor. Alex doesn’t know what Ragland filled her in on, doesn’t know if Ragland told him how he sobbed, how he had begged and screamed for him to do something— _anything_ —for her, even while his guts spilled from a wound the supreme hunter had inflicted before Alex had failed to consume him.

She was always his priority, even now.

Even if she never wanted anything to do with him after this.

Dana was perceptive, and she knew very well that him showing up through the window with a bag of fast food from her favorite place was an indicator that he was trying to placate her. She doesn’t say anything at least, only fixing him with a knowing look and taking the offering. He had checked with Ragland before he got it, just in case. The nurses would kill them, but Ragland had _unofficially_ given him the okay.

He sits still while she eats, and they talk about nothing in particular. He knows that she can see how nervous he is, how he fidgets, how his leg won’t stop _bouncing._ He doesn’t know who’s nervous tic that is, but he hates it.

“So,” Dana begins, pausing to suck a finger into her mouth, chasing the remaining taste of her burger before she opts for the napkin. “What is it?”

Straight to the point, of course.

Alex opens his mouth, and he tries to say something, _anything_ , but nothing comes out, and he closes it again. This process repeats a few more times, frustration twisting his expression. He’s trying but he can’t- why can’t he just say it?

Dana is patient with him, her attention on her medical bracelet, spinning and fidgeting with it before she dropped her hands to her lap. She looks at him and he freezes, caught like a deer in headlights in light of her stare. She raises an eyebrow, and heat colors his cheeks.

“I don’t know where to start.” Alex mumbles, turning his gaze towards the floor.

“Why don’t you try the beginning?” Dana suggests, light and playful, and Alex hates that he is about to destroy her _again._

So he starts at the beginning, and he tells her everything. He tells her about Alex Mercer, about Gentek, about Blacklight, about Hope, Idaho. He tells her everything that she missed and what he’s done, and then he tells her the truth.

“I’m not who you think I am.” It’s mumbled, and he can’t meet her gaze for this, can’t do anything but close his eyes and let his head drop. “I’m not Alex Mercer.” He can’t hear the way her breath hitches, he _can’t._

“What he did at Penn station, I’m that.” His voice cracks, he has nothing and yet he's still about to lose everything. “I am the virus.” He stole her brother’s face, his identity, _used_ her with it, and he can offer no closure, only the truth. “Your brother is dead… and I’m so sorry.”

And then there is silence, again. Silence in how he waits to be judged, silence in the damnation that must follow. Dana sniffles, and it breaks him. It breaks him when her breath hitches and a sob slips out under her breath, no apology could fix this, _nothing_ could fix him--

“I know.”

It stops him cold, head jerking up and eyes snapping open to stare at her. It hurts. Her pain hurts, the twisted expression on her face, the tears that built up and slipped. It hurts how she brings her hand up, rubbing at her mouth before slipping to her chin. The corners of her lips turn up amidst the pain, and he doesn’t _understand._ He can’t understand how she knew—how long has she known?

“You know?” And Dana nods, reaching up to rub at her eyes as a breathless sob slips out of her. “How long have-- You…” and he stares at her, helpless and confused and nearly on the verge of crying too.

She doesn’t respond immediately, and stumbles over herself when she tries, voice unsteady and breaking. “Since you first came to the door.”

Alex doesn’t understand, he _can’t_ understand--

“Alex hadn’t called me Dana in- God I don’t know how long. Since we were kids, maybe…”

The memories come to him, suddenly and aggressively. He never had all of it, he could search for what he was looking for amongst others, but sometimes someone else had to lead him in.

And Dana looks at him, smiling through her tears, like _somehow_ this was closure. “He always called me Dani.”

_Dani._

_Dani and Ali_.

“Oh.” It’s all he can say, all he can do is remembers more. It explains things, the scars on his chest, the genetic biology that Alex was so fascinated with. Dani and Ali. And with it comes more realizations, more questions than answers.

“You knew this whole time,” Still mumbled, still uncertain, trying to put together pieces of a puzzle. His whole life had been that, one giant puzzle, started and left unfinished by someone else. He had no guide, no picture to reference, only trial and error. Constant error. She knew and she still helped him, still helped a _virus._ “Why did you help me?”

It’s like she had been waiting for that question, she knew he would ask it. He was made of _“why’s”_ and she tries to meet his gaze, and he lets her. Lets her see the monster inside the man. The disguise that had become his skin.

“I meant what I said Alex,” Why is she calling him that? She knows— _she knows._ Still, Dana wipes at her runny nose, rubs the tears from her red eyes, and tilts her chin up. Pain morphs the expression, but her jaw is set, and her voice is firm. “No matter what, you’re still my brother.”

It frees him, and it kills him.

It’s all they can do to rebuild themselves together, when the hospital bed shifts with Alex’s weight, as he moves to sit next to her. She presses against his side, resting her head against his shoulder, and they break, and heal, together.


	2. lover; part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tries not to linger, tries so desperately not to become too comfortable in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god cant make me proofread
> 
> anyways this super got away from me so now this hot mess is gonna have another chapter!
> 
> tysm for all the comments and kudos <3!!

Rebuilding himself is hard when it is more than just biomass he lacks. Physically, Alex Mercer is fine, as fine as a virus can be, but it is mentally, _emotionally_ , where he falters. He should face it, should be brave enough to go forward, Dana knows him and somehow, _somehow_ , still loves him. He’s not alone and that should be enough.

But it’s not.

On that bench he had accepted his new mission, his new life purpose. To atone for the sins of his _father_ , and he would not rest until it was done.

Alex has to be careful, much more careful that he used to be, but the super soldiers no longer linger at bases and the detectors are put to better use safeguarding what really mattered. It does not scream his unforseen arrival to the complex, no panic rises in response. No one knows that the soldier he wore had died weeks ago, and he knows too much of their lingo to be questioned when he steals a helicopter, taking off to assault a hive from the air.

It’s harder this way; it’s easier this way. Alex does not have to stain his blood with people who had no part in his creation or demise. He’s still lying, like that is all he’s good at. It’s impossible to forget when soldiers treat him like one of their own, when Blackwatch congratulates him on a well preformed strike. He could have had this, if he was something else; but he is Blacklight, and that is all he ever will be.

The anxiety of a thousand men shakes him, while the experience of a thousand more steadies him. He shoots to kill, and when it’s all said and done with, he slips away, unnoticed, and unmissed. 

Different identities require different expertise, and he has them all. He operates retrieval, he drops med supplies, he evacuates, he saves lives. He does everything that Alex Mercer should have done, but never did. No one needs to know about him, and he certainly doesn’t need to be a hero. He was made to be a weapon, so let them use him for _good._

He tries not to linger, tries so _desperately_ not to become too comfortable in it, but the slaps on the back are intoxicating, the hollers of a job well done nearly drug him, and more than anything it reminds him of _Cross._

The Wisemen team is deployed elsewhere, and he avoids their strain like the plague.

He knows them, smells how they’ve been tested on, how their biology has been manipulated. Super soldiers in their own right, and family to one Captain Robert Cross. He remembers their meeting, the look in Robert’s eyes when he downed soldier after soldier under his command, the rage that festered just under his skin. He had never encountered a human being that could match him like that; blow for blow. The stun baton was agony against his skin, sending volts through any bit of biomass it could reach, always echoing back to his core. That was before Cross had turned his back on Randall, and long before Mercer had turned his back on him.

He had only seen Cross once since their departure on the Citadel, where Alex had turned his back to him, leaving his team to drag their Captain away from the monster hellbent on saving his city. Alex didn’t regret it, he’d do it again, a thousand times if that’s what it took to give this island a fighting chance. In doing so he had slipped under the radar, presumed dead. It wasn’t expected, or even planned for, but it _was_ convenient.

The virus has seen him only for a moment, while he had been perched on the corner of a skyscrapers roof, staring down at a hive, breathing and hissing and _listening._ The hivemind liked to taunt him, liked to attack and harass him, instinctively drawn to the remnants of Greene they felt within him. They wanted him, wanted a leader. They wanted him to give, to become one with them, to be _all_ with them. They needed him to tell them what to do—but only if it suited their purpose, only if it agreed with their instincts. He can not tell them to die, though he has tried, and they cannot convince him to fall. So he fights, and they fight him in return.

He had been trying, futile as it was to keep doing so, to talk sense to them, to overpower them, to charge _blindly_ into the fray, gnashing and clawing like a caged animal finally tumbling free from the bars. He failed. He always failed there. He had been minutes from it, contemplating and considering best he could when the voices were _so_ loud, when the roar of a helicopters blades overwhelmed them, and Alex snapped to attention as the deep groan of a tank echoed from the streets so far below him.

The helicopter’s blades cut the scent and splayed it out, uneven and strange on the wind. _Horrid_ , under the taste of gunpowder and guts, but Alex knows their scent.

He knows Cross’ scent.

His team spills out onto streets, and Alex’s ears can pick up the sound of his voice even from where he lurks, not needing to strain but ( _human?_ ) instinct making him do so, staring with wide eyes as Cross and his team engaged.

Hunters and infected spill from the hive, mutated and strange without Greene’s presence to pick and choose the strain of her choice. It was no longer carefully choreographed, but a melting pot of decay and disease. A melting pot that reached so desperately for Alex’s mind, tendrils ripping through the web of his conscious.

A hunter rips towards Cross, and the man only drops to kneel, arm whipping back to reveal the grenade launcher, armed and ready. The hunter falls, thrown off balance by the explosion, and Alex yelps like a dog, halfway over the ledge before he catches himself. It only took a moment to _almost_ blow his cover, and it took so much more than a moment to convince himself to tear his eyes away from the battle below him and leave.

Dana hates the hospital, she hates the monitors and the beeping and the bed she keeps fiddling with. She hates not having a laptop, not being able to do things, hates the Blackwatch members that are patrolling the hallways for _‘safety’s sake.’_ She doesn’t buy it, neither does Alex. She still knows something is wrong, can see it in the set of his jaw, the furrow to his brow, the way his gaze lingers down, like his head is too heavy on his shoulders. She doesn’t voice anything, solely because Ragland is there with them.

He _does_ have a laptop—the indignity of it all, according to Dana, what she wants just inches out of reach—but even though Dana pesters and moans and groans he doesn’t give it up to her, and she goes back to flipping through the channels on the tv, bored out of her mind. It might drive him insane, if he’s honest, the constant clicking and tapping of buttons, the _whir_ as the bed raises and lowers, the voices from the tv constantly switching, interrupted nonstop. He’s not sure how Ragland can handle it, but it might be easier for him, considering his _normal_ hearing abilities.

Alex doesn’t know what he’s working on, and he doesn’t ask.

Eventually Dana throws herself back onto the bed once more, letting out a defeated sigh. Purposely loud, purposely drawing attention. Ragland lets out a sigh of his own, closing his eyes for a moment before rolling his shoulders and pulling away from the screen. His gaze sweeps over the room, a poorly covered bemused expression on his face as he finally met Alex’s eyes.

“Alex, for the _love_ of _all_ that is good in this world,” Dana perks up out of the corner of Alex’s eyes, beaming. “Would you _please_ do something about your sister?”

“ _Yes!”_ Dana gasps, sitting back up in a rush. “Something! Anything! C’mon Alex _please_! I’ll _die_ if I’m kept in this room any longer.” She’s looking at him, fire in her eyes, burning brighter than the pallor of her skin. 

It’s a familiar expression, though not to him. A bright eyed energetic little sister, always trying to impress, always desperate for his time and attention. One of the many things he hates about the man that came before him. He can’t imagine ever being able to say _‘no’_ to her.

So Alex turns his attention back to Ragland, stressed in the way he glanced around pointedly at the room before fixing Ragland with a pleading expression. _‘Could he take her out? Was it safe? Would the air kill her?’_

Ragland only purses his lips, glancing towards the door and then to the window. Clearly he hadn’t expected quite the response he had received from his statement. They were both unexpected, Dana and her brother. Always changing, never normal. Ragland stands, and Dana and Alex stare, watching with bated breath as he sits his laptop down on the chair he had just been sitting on before walking over to the door. They stay deathly still as he pokes his head out, glancing back and forth down the hallway.

Alex knows it’s empty, can smell it, can _hear_ it.

Ragland turns back, shuts the door, locks it, and then his expression becomes stern. Seemingly it had become clear to him that between the three of them, he _must_ be the voice of reason. “One hour, no more, no less-”

He can barely finish his sentence before he’s cut off by Dana’s hollar of joy, throwing her arms in the air and immediately turning to throw her legs over the side of her hospital bed. Alex’s senses are in overdrive the second her feet make contact with the floor, the little _plap_ of her bare skin sounding more akin to when he dropped from a skyscraper onto concrete.

She’s looking at him expectantly, and he double checks with Ragland just _one_ more time. Ragland nods, seemingly exasperated, and Alex moves over to the window, throwing it open and going still. No helicopters in the immediate area, no infection on the wind. Only the scent of Bloodtox from the dispensers around the walls barricading the hospital. He sucks in too much, and barely withholds a cough.

A growing immunity did not mean an _immediate_ immunity. But it’s safe, and he turns back to Dana’s hopeful face as she _completely conspicuously_ inches closer. “You heard Ragland, _one_ hour. After that I’m bringing you right back here.” 

“Hell yes!” Is her response, and she articulates her delight with a fist pump before crossing the rest of the distance to where he was.

There are a few problems with his plan that Alex can see near immediately. One, where the hell is going to take her? Two, how the hell was he going to take her there? And three, that was not _nearly_ enough clothing for her. The hospital gown would be nothing against the wind.

A plan forms quickly, minds working together in tandem to solve the logistics of the problem. He’s shrugging his jacket off before he really thinks about it, and Dana looks awestruck as he dumps it onto her shoulders. It’s so easy to forget that Alex _abandoned_ her and took off. Left her alone, maybe… maybe wondering what she did wrong.

He doesn’t want to think about it now.

So instead he turns his back to her, crouching down and reaching behind him. “Grab on.”

Dana all but crashes into him, and no doubt the force in it would topple someone else, but he can grab trucks and fling them without strain, a sickly 21 year old woman wasn’t even close to an issue. “Hold on tight, and do _not_ let go.”

She nods an affirmative into his shoulder, and wraps her arms around his neck, locking her ankles together over his belly. He adjusts his grip, reaching forward to pull himself up onto the window ledge, turning his head up to stare towards the roof. Power bunches in his muscles, biomass coiling like a spring. “And Dana? Be _quiet._ ”

She doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t have to. Her scream of delight as he rockets up towards the roof is all the answer he’s getting.

She’s still laughing when he finds a suitable perch for them both, depositing her onto it with care. Dana of course, appreciates none of the gesture, and flops down, trying to push her wind tossed hair back into place. “That’s _amazing._ Do you do that to get everywhere?”

He can’t be mad at her. Not for the world. “Sometimes.”

“Dude, you’ve _got_ to bring me with you when you go places, I need to do that again.”

Alex grins, he can’t help it. This is his sister, his _baby_ sister. And he is her brother. A thought that still makes him giddy. “Maybe. When you get better.”

She groans and reaches over to flick him in the side of the head, before turning her gaze towards the horizon. It’s cold, she _must_ be cold even with his jacket, but she looks so at peace, finally free of her cage.

They spend minutes like that, letting the time pass them by, watching as the sun set over the horizon. No matter what happened here, what happened anywhere, to them or anyone else; the world kept on spinning. Dana lets out a breathless sigh, contentment in her bones, before she lays back to stare at the sky.

He stays sitting next to her, lost in thought until the sky turns dark. Dana finds him, she always finds him.

“So,” She begins, sitting back up and propping herself up on her arm, shit eating grin on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Damn it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about--”

 _“Liar_. Tell me the truth.”

He pouts at her, shifting uncomfortable and resolutely looking away from her.

This does nothing to dissuade Dana, frankly nothing _ever_ does. In fact, in encourages her, and she shuffles closer, pressing up against his side. “Come on, Alex. You know you can’t keep it from me forever.”

She’s probably right, but he doesn’t have to like it. He holds out for a bit longer, inhaling and holding it. She waits, satisfied smirk growing into a grin as it became clear she _was_ going to get her way.

A weary sigh signals his defeat, and he rolls his shoulders uncomfortably, suddenly finding the skyline _very_ interesting. He doesn’t start talking, not yet. There’s too much to say and nowhere clear to start. 

“What would you do if there was someone you need to see, but… they thought you were dead and you thought you were dead except now you’re not, and you want to see them again but you don’t know _why_ and also you might have tried to kill each other once or twice?”

Dana blinks at him when he turns his head to face her, trying to process the rush of absolute _nonsense_ he had just rambled at her, but he’s desperate and he needs her advice so badly.

“That's…” She’s picking it apart, weighing her words on her tongue. “A _very_ specific problem, Alex. You tried to kill each other? Do I need to call someone? Is this a cry for help?” Dana squinted at him, pursing her lips. It’s half a joke, it’s half not. And Alex groans, shaking his head and reaching up to run his hand through his hair, knocking his hood off in the process.

It’s strange and uncomfortable, the rush of air around him, and he scrunches in on himself, unhappy as he quickly moved to pull the hood back over his head. He didn’t know why it bothered him, but it was too… open.

He’ll think about it later.

“No, he _helped_ me Dana, helped the city.” He won't tell her everything, the less she knows the safer she is. He has already endangered her enough. “He uh--” Again, fiddling with his hands, bouncing his leg; uncomfortable.

_Why?_

“He told me. About what I am.” And that is softer, mumbled. As if he is ashamed of his own existence. Just another one of Dr. Alex Mercer’s many, many mistakes. “Helped me deal with it. Kind of.” While they had time, before the bomb had been set to blow and the supreme hunter had rose again from the pits of hell, hiding as one of Cross’ men. “I haven’t seen him since, I mean. I’ve seen him but not- we haven’t seen each other I’ve just been looking.” Nope, sounds creepy, pull it back. “Sometimes.” Not better.

And Dana just stares at him, and there is a dragging silence. It starts to make him feel uncomfortable but then Dana’s face splits into a near _feral_ grin. “Oh my God you have a crush!”

 _“What!?”_ Alex’s voice cracks when he yells back, but blood rushes to his cheeks. _“No I don’t!”_ Quick to defend, too quick.

Dana just laughs, near hysterical, kicking her legs and rapidly smacking her hands against her thighs before jolting back to Alex’s side, bumping her shoulder against his. “You _totally_ have a crush! Who is it? Is it someone I know--” Before she cuts off with a gasp, pulling back as if re-evaluating him completely. Alex flounders under her attention, _(embarrassed?)_ and flighty. He’d love to take off, love to not deal with this, but he cannot abandon her on the roof.

But then he _really_ considers it because the next words out of Dana’s mouth are “Is it _Bradley?”_ wide-eyed and staring at him, trying to read him.

Alex splutters, and Dana’s jaw drops before Alex frantically yells _“No!”_ Pulling away from her and gripping at the concrete under him hard enough to send cracks along the edge. “It’s not _Ragland_ are you insane-- That doesn’t even… how would that work? He’s like… twice my age!”

Dana pulls back, raising her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, if that’s what gets your engine revving no judgement here.” And Alex just _groans,_ deflating like a balloon. Before Dana hits him over the head with another verbal bat.

“That’s for the best anyways, I think he’s got something going on with one of the nurses.” 

Solemn and thoughtful, and not at _all_ what Alex was expecting. His head whips back around, throwing a glance over his shoulder instinctively—yeup, still on an isolated roof—before leaning in. “ _Really?”_

And suddenly it is a _conspiracy_ as Dana leans in, also looking over her shoulder before dropping her voice to a whisper. _“Yes,_ _really._ ”

Like two children gossiping about a teacher, as if they could walk in on them at any moment. “ _Who?_ How do you _know?”_

Dana rolled her eyes, scooting closer to whisper with more urgency. “What do you think we get up too while you’re not around? We don’t just spend all day reminiscing about what a cool dude you are.”

“Well why not?”

Dana smacks his shoulder for that, and he flashes a grin at the playfully annoyed look she sends back his way. “Do you want answers or do you want to bother me?”

He’s still grinning when he reaches up to mime zipping his lips. Dana puts _effort_ into her eye roll this time, moving her whole head with it.

“ _So,_ there’s this guy.”

“Right.”

“He’s not _my_ nurse but he kind of keeps _conveniently_ showing up whenever Bradley’s there to ‘ _see if I need anything,’_ but that usually just means joining in whatever conversation Bradley and I are having.”

Suspicious, but not really indicative of anything. “Maybe they’re just… friends.”

“Oh yeah,” Dana snorted, “because going out of your way to see someone you have no business with is just _friendly_ behavior.” The look she gives Alex as she says it isn’t subtle in the slightest.

Alex of course, pouts at that. “It might be.”

“No. it’s really not.”

They run out of time eventually, and Dana is reluctantly returned to her hospital bed. Ragland is there waiting for them when they return, and he only shakes his head in faint amusement as Dana hands the leather jacket back over to Alex. They were only a few minutes late, but Alex doesn’t even think to protest, too focused on trying to sense something that even he couldn’t see. Dana shoots him a look every now and then, as if mentally yelling at him to stop being so obvious. Ragland just seems confused but the sudden change in atmosphere, but Alex says nothing, Dana brushes it off, and Ragland reluctantly lets it drop.

The field trip exhausted Dana much more than she wanted to let on, and she only lasts a little longer before shes curled up and out like a light, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Alex doesn’t stay for much longer, eventually saying his goodbyes to Ragland and slipping out the window right before the door opened. He lingers just out of view, waiting, at the brink of _feral_ in a moment. If anyone even _looked_ at Dana wrong he’d…

But it’s fine. Ragland seems soft, _happy_ to be talking to the other person. Alex doesn’t look, he knows he won't be able to handle what he sees, and he slips away, far too much to think about.

It takes anther week for Alex to finally make a decision, prompted more by a spur of the moment thing than any actual plan. There was a place he had, small, difficult to access, and out of public way. There was a small maintenance room off the side of one of the many abandoned subway tunnels that called Manhattan home, it was the perfect place for him to hide out when he needed too, now that Blackwatch was once again making an actual effort to rid the island of it’s infection. It was here that Alex Mercer housed what meager possessions he actually held on to. It was an odd collection of things, knickknacks, books, trinkets and odds and ends. The most important thing in his collection by far was a phone.

A phone that Robert Cross had left him, back when he was simply the informant, and they were _proper_ enemies, and not two jaded men fighting for a common purpose. It’s dangerous. It’s dangerous and stupid, but he needs to see Cross again, needs to… do.

Something.

He needs to do something.

Talk to him, maybe. Find someone who understood. Maybe they could help each other. Maybe he could tell Alex what to do.

Either way, Alex pocketed the phone, nervous energy in his veins as he left his hideout behind. It’s hard to become something more.

Finding the Wisemen team is easy, having a valid excuse to approach them is less so. The phone sits useless in his pocket, and he fidgets with it more than he should, rubbing his thumb over the outside, scraping a dull nail across the screen.

The skin he wears as a disguise is not necessarily comfortable, but it is familiar after enough use. Though, not _too_ much use. An addiction was a terrible thing for a two month old to have.

The opportunity finally presents itself when a hive explodes with activity, and new evolutions that promise disaster. Hulking forms with thickened skin that regular bullets cannot penetrate. They’re slower than hunters, not as agile, but can level a tank in a single blow, and scream for reinforcements so loud it leaves the ears ringing of anyone too close to it.

It’s a fucking disaster.

Alex survives, because that’s all he knows how to do on his own, even though they target him and no one knows _why._

“It’s the tank, it has to be the tank, these fuckers learn-- _Shit!_ ” Before the marine’s scream echoes through the channel as his tank explodes.

He smells Cross before he sees him, that one _singular_ virus, the old model of Wisemen before it was finally _‘perfected’_ and presented as the team Cross had now. It draws the attention of the new infected almost immediately, but their obsession with Mercer overrides it; the need to be _one_ with the leader.

Alex isn’t afraid of the damage they could do to him physically, it is psychologically where he freezes in terror.

The Captain’s arrival is announced over the channel, and he and his Wisemen spill onto the battle, uniformed and hunting, baying like the hounds of hell at their captain’s heel. The virus _trembles_ , breathes, and loses himself to the smell of gunpowder, the explosions that shake the earth, and the roar of every living thing, from the hive to the soldiers and all that’s in between.

It’s over after hours, after seconds. It always shakes him whenever a hive is destroyed, the sudden loss of _so many voices_ , the uneasy difference as what remains rushes to fill its place. Like a boat in a storm, tossed and turned. At some point he lost his tank, at some point he acquired a gun. At some point Cross looked at him.

Alex thinks about that more than most.

Cross is nearby, he can hear him, _smell him_ , knows that he is leaving instructions, debriefing; mind most likely working a mile a minute to figure out how to explain this to the higher ups, what worked, what didn’t what had to be done. This could be the only chance that Alex gets without endangering everything.

They must have just been on patrol, doing their rounds, because the team turns to leave on foot, and Alex’s legs move before he gives them command too. It must be a virus thing, to move so desperately towards someone without thought. Is he losing control? Should he be concerned?

“Captain!”

He gains the attention of the whole team for his efforts, beady eyes staring him down though an uncomfortable amount of goggles.

Cross just stares at him, not a glare, not quite neutral. He is exhausted, and only up close can Alex see the bags under his eyes, the bloodshot look in them.

“Take it up with your superior, you’re not my division.”

Because Cross is Blackwatch, and this body was Marine. He studies him for a moment longer, like he’s trying to place something, but still he turns to leave, and Alex _can’t_ let him, not when he’s so close.

“You dropped something, sir.”

And Cross does stop at that, turning around once more, that confused twist to his brow. He is more human than Alex, but not as human as his team, and none of them are anything.

Alex stepped forward, pulling the phone that Cross had left him from his pocket and handing it over. He blinks, and his eyes open yellow and glowing, before they are brown again, and Cross stiffens, if only for a second.

He can’t help but wonder if this was a huge mistake. 

They stare at each other, and Alex doesn’t breathe, still holding out that phone, still making eye contact. Cross’ team shuffled uncomfortably around them, this wasn’t normal, and Alex can _feel_ their stares on him, trying to take him apart.

Cross reaches out and takes the phone, and just in the second where their hands touch, Alex _aches._

Cross swallows and clears his throat. He closes his eyes, only for a moment, and Alex watches a war wage in a man’s mind, before finally Cross looks to him again, eyes narrowed, and Alex _wonders._

“What’s your name, soldier?”

Alex’s tongue wets his lips, opening his mouth; silent before the memories come to him. “Private John Lamberth, sir.” A dead man’s name, always a dead man’s name.

Cross nods and steps back, holding the phone still, gaze searching around them. Alex doesn’t move externally, but his organs and insides _twist._

“You were here when the new infected emerged?”

A nod.

“Good. I’ll set up a meeting with your superior later. We need to know everything about what happened here, and how the hell to prevent it elsewhere.”

Alex nods, salutes, and Cross looks him up and down before turning as if nothing had happened and leading his pack on.

He slips away, sheds his skin, and climbs up the tallest building in immediate vicinity, just managing to pull himself over the ledge of the roof before his legs turn to jelly and he collapses. The conversation plays over and over in his mind, and Alex stays there, curled up on the roof and clutching the radio in his shaking hands.

Waiting.

Always waiting.


End file.
